


Sympathy, Tenderness

by Sharadethia



Series: Dragon Age Ficlets [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse of Power, Abusive Relationships, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Victim Blaming, and this marian is a miserable excuse for a human being, anders is a rape survivor, this might be triggering please be careful, will i ever write something happy? at least not today I won't!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 03:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16884507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharadethia/pseuds/Sharadethia
Summary: Anders has reasons for his crusade that Marian has never bothered to consider.





	Sympathy, Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

> This includes a significant other blaming their partner for their own rape. Please read this at your own risk.

“I thought I could trust you.”

The words came out of his mouth numbly.

“What? You expect me to believe that templars just go around raping mages as they please? My father was helped by a templar, who Carver was named after, in case you had forgotten. We both know you’re just saying that for your manifesto.”

Anders and Hawke stood across from each other, illuminated only by the flickering gold of her fireplace. Her weapons had been shed the moment she stepped across her own threshold; she had also forced Anders to relinquish his staff at the door as well. “Only fun magic in the house,” was her rule.

“You think I would lie about this?” Anders demanded, still holding out hope that this was one of Hawke’s tasteless jokes, one of the ones that he never really thought was funny, but the kind that Hawke would guffaw about over a game of Wicked Grace after a few ales. 

“Come on, Anders,” Hawke said, raising her eyebrows and crossing her arms. Amusement was fading from her face, leaving a look of annoyance. “You don’t really believe it, do you?”

“Do you have any idea how many mages I’ve rescued who’ve…”

Not one to listen when she was uninterested, Hawke simply cut Anders off with a roll of her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure they made up some sob story to make sure you’d help them. You’re a sucker for sob stories, and you know it.” 

He couldn’t be mad at Hawke, he tried to tell himself. She did not know anything about being a mage. He had suspected for a long time that she simply kept him around for her own fun, but he had tried to silence those thoughts; he had tried to tell himself that every time she took her pleasure from him that she cared about his as well. Hawke just didn’t understand, he reiterated, trying to keep the pain in his chest from radiating.

“They aren’t sob stories, Hawke! It happens! What do you expect when you give hulking men swords, plate armor, and unlimited power?” 

“Oh, that’s when the fun starts,” Hawke giggled.

“Hawke, I’m serious!”

Anders never raised his voice, at least not when he was in full control of himself. He was normally as eloquent as he needed to be, but she was simply twisting the knife that she had driven into his heart, and she did not seem to be picking up on his pain.

“I’m serious, too, of course. Who doesn’t enjoy playing helpless mage and strapping templar?” Hawke’s nearly-black eyes danced with quiet mirth as she brought her quick hands to Anders’ shoulders and kicked his knees out from under him in one fell swoop. He landed harshly on his knees, his bones hitting the wood with a reverberating crack. Before he could say anything, Hawke was leaning over, her wolfish grin all that he could see. “What a naughty apostate,” she snickered to herself. 

“Marian!” 

Anders threw up a wall of electricity to keep her hands from grabbing his head as they were moving too. The rogue’s reaction was instantaneous. 

“That,” she snarled, kicking Anders in the chest with one of her still-booted feet, “was not fun magic.” The movement sent him to the wooden floor with great force.

“And your ‘game’ wasn’t fun, either!” 

While Marian curled her hands into fists, Anders propped himself up on his elbow, unblinkingly returning her furious gaze. How many times had a templar had him like that, on his knees, their hands in his hair, wrenching, tearing? How many times had such a position not been a joke in his life? 

“I know templars rape circle mages, because I’ve seen it.” 

In the tense moment that followed, the crackling fire and Marian’s heavy, angered breathing were the only things that could be heard in the room. 

“I know they do it, because it happened to me,” he added, this time his tone soft, his eyes pleading with Marian to understand him, to understand what he had gone through. He was sure that even Fenris, the elf who hated him so much, would have had at least a grain of sympathy for him having heard what had been said, but Marian simply sneered. 

“We both know you got around. Don’t try to blame that on the templars. That’s why you like robes, isn’t it? Easy access, I think you’ve said before.” 

“Marian,” he pleaded. She was not normally this cruel. She was not normally so cold. How often had he tried to hint to her the plight of the mages? How often had he tried to show her that there was more than what she was willing to see in the world? He could still remember how it felt to be entirely at another’s mercy; he still remembered the fear that he lived with in the circles. There was a reason he fought for mages, but it had not occurred to him that if Marian thought his crusade a joke, then of course she would view the experiences which saw him take it up as such too. 

When Marian said nothing and turned to face the fireplace, staring into the flames as if nothing of import had occurred, Anders began to get to his feet. He turned toward the door, but when he went to walk away, Marian grabbed his belt with her vice-like fingers and held him in place.

“Let me go,” he demanded, electricity now arcing from his fingertips.

“Maybe if you stopped blaming your shortcomings on other people, you would be happier,” Marian said upon turning to face him. She let go of his belt with a flourish and crossed her arms. “Come back when you’re willing to beg for me. Or when you’re willing to admit that you liked it.” 

Anders, now red from anger, stalked out of the room, intentionally leaving the door open to inconvenience Marian who worshiped her privacy more than most worshiped the Makers. He walked down the stairs, his memory bringing up different memories of the circle with each step, each new flash something he had wanted to forget long ago. He said nothing to Orana or Bodhan or Sandal, but he grabbed his staff from where he had been encouraged, no, forced to leave it. As he whipped the door to the estate open and headed into the bitterly cold night, he tried to gather himself, and tried to convince himself that he would never see Marian again. That was, however, the first lie of the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like many people in the fandom ignore the blatant subtext that (1) there is rampant sexual abuse in the circles, and (2) that Anders probably was a victim of at least something related to that. His overt and inappropriate sexuality in Awakening? Classic sign of abuse and replicating the attention he's received. I could write a whole essay on this, and even if I haven't played this game in a year or so, I guess I'm still pretty fired up about this? Anyway, this also is not any Hawke I've ever played, and obviously this Hawke is an awful person.


End file.
